A Helping Hand
by SiobhanP
Summary: Mark doesn't talk about things, and when it becomes clear just how much it's hurting him, Angel offers some support that ends up being even more valuable than she expects. MarkRoger, AngelMark friendship.


Note: Assumes a brief period of time between the couples' breakups in Contact and Angel's death/hospitalization.

* * *

If Angel hadn't been so good at controlling her reactions, she would have gaped when Mark came to the door. He was flushed and sweaty and swaying on his feet, looking weak and sick. Angel knew that meant she probably shouldn't be around him, but he looked exceedingly pathetic and probably needed the company. Even suppressing her reaction to his appearance, she still felt his forehead and his cheeks and half shrieked, "Oh, honey, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"M'not sick," Mark rocked back and forth again, and let out a breath so thick with the smell of alcohol that Angel nearly winced to breathe it. That worried her even more than him being ill, because it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and it was Mark. Steady, responsible, work-absorbed Mark, and yet there he was, alone and rolling drunk about two hours after he usually got out of bed.

"I think I'll wait here for Tom," Angel announced cautiously – she was going to figure out what was going on here if it was the death of her, because Mark looked like he had a lot he needed to get off his chest – and how not, when he spent all his time observing and absorbing other people's drama? "If that's okay?" she added when Mark failed to answer.

"'Course it is…" Mark murmured, looking confused. He waved a limp wrist back and forth in the air, indicating the room as he slurred, "Mi casa, su casa," in Spanish so bad the hair on the back of Angel's neck bristled. Mark had mentioned taking French instead of Spanish, having had the option at his private school, but really, not knowing a simple figure of speech? "How d'you know he'll come, though?"

"He went out with Roger," Angel explained simply. "Roger called this morning; I don't know what they were doing, either." That was true, too – Collins had grown reticent and quiet when she'd asked what Roger had wanted. He'd promised to tell her later, but couldn't be swayed to give her even the slightest hint.

Mark's eyes went wide and sad at the mention of Roger, though, and all of a sudden Angel had the sneaking suspicion she'd hit on what exactly was wrong. But Mark didn't give her any verbal indication of a problem, just sauntered over to the counter, walking with an almost rhythmic swagger, and grabbed a nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey. He took a long swig, then shuddered slightly and wiped his mouth. He was clumsy, though, and somehow he managed to knock his glasses from his face while moving his hands away. He cursed loudly and started to bend over to grab them before seeming to think better of it and standing up straight, a strange expression on his face. "Angel, think I need—" he started urgently. Angel, who hadn't needed him to say a word, having known since she'd seen his face, hurried to help him to the sink, half holding him up.

It was much harder than it should have been, and for a moment Angel considered her deteriorating condition and thought about seeing a doctor. Collins had been nagging her; all he'd want for her was the best. She was startled back to reality when Mark choked then heaved prodigiously, bringing up what looked like the entire contents of his stomach in one fell swoop. Said contents of his stomach, worryingly, appeared to be nothing more than bile and booze. Angel eased him to the floor, keeping a hand on his shoulder to give him stability, and knelt in front of him.

"Marky sweetheart, I think that was God's way of telling you to lay off," Angel said gently, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of her hand. She wiped it on his pants, but at least he was more comfortable. She retrieved his glasses and replaced them before continuing, "Now, we're gonna lay you down on the couch and I'm going to make you something to eat and then we'll have a nice chat, okay?"

"Food?" Mark croaked weakly, looking a little grey. "No, I…"

"Well I'm making it anyway, sweetie, so you might as well get used to it," Angel told him, still kindly but not allowing for argument. She slid his arm over her shoulder, braced it, and hauled him to his feet. He was still wavering uncertainly, so she didn't release him, she walked with him.

"I 'ont have to eat it," Mark replied, a grim satisfaction in his certainty.

Angel smiled a slightly evil smile. "So you think," she said sweetly. "Now, while we've got you on your feet: you have to pee or anything?"

Mark shook his head mutely. The sadness in his eyes was there again, and they looked like they were shining with forming tears. "Thanks, Angel," he whispered in a cracking voice.

"Think nothing of it, sweetheart; any time," she replied brightly, easing him onto the couch. Mark laid down as soon as she got up from beside him. He stayed there silently while Angel got water and ordered him to drink it. He did, Angel was persuasive and Mark was a co-operative drunk if nothing else. She returned a few minutes later with a weak cup of herbal tea and a piece of buttered bread. Mark sat up, and Angel sat beside him, letting him lean on her slightly.

He ate about half of the bread before protesting in a sick-sounding voice, "I can't."

Angel frowned, but she'd gotten something into his stomach, and that was victory enough. She took the half empty mug from his hands and set it on the table in front of them, then settled back into her spot and patted her lap. "Now, you just lie back down and tell me what brought all this on, hm?"

Mark looked unsure, but Angel smiled brightly back at him and let him lay his head in her lap, resting a hand on his chest once he'd gotten comfortable. "What happened, Mark?" Angel asked softly after a moment. "I know you wouldn't get like this without a reason."

"It was… It was nothing," Mark said, and his voice was just a little too insistent for Angel's liking. "Just a… stupid mistake. Wanted t'get it out of my head. 'Sides, I started drinking again to get rid of the hangover. F'I make myself forget, it'll just go away. God knows he will," Mark snorted bitterly, sounding hurt. "Not that I'll be able to, not if I get fucked over for being stupid."

Angel kept it off her face, but she couldn't help being alarmed. "Mark, what happened?"

"S'nothing important, like I said," he mumbled, waving his hand above him dismissively.

Angel shook her head. "Well, if you need to get like this to get away from it, I'd say it's a little more than nothing, hijito."

"I'm tired," Mark insisted suddenly in a whimper-whine. "Angel, don't do this…"

"No, don't you do this," Angel countered firmly. "Mark, you can't solve your problems by forgetting about them. Please? Don't make me get Tom or Roger to do this, honey, or you will regret it. They won't play nice."

"Yeah, well, I don't think talking to Roger would be much help," Mark said miserably. "Or Collins, if he's already got Roger's side of the story."

Suspicions confirmed, Angel continued pressing. "You boys have a fight?"

Mark laughed as if surprised, shaking his whole frame, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Think more 'long the lines of the opposite."

The opposite? Angel frowned thoughtfully. She wasn't sure, but… Oh, no. Remembering Mark's reference to his drunkenness the prior evening, the gears in her head began to work. She remembered Collins telling Roger he sounded like shit on the phone that morning. Roger had fired back with something less than pleasant, prompting Collins to remark that he was not about to let Roger take his hangover out on him. They'd both been drunk, Angel was all too aware that the sexual tension between them was almost tangible sometimes – Collins actually had a gesture for it, dragging his pointer finger through the air as if it were cutting something solid like cheese and grinning – and Mark was telling her to think of the opposite of a fight. It almost certainly had to mean…

"Oh, Mark, no," she said sympathetically, looking down at him with eyes almost as sad as his own and stroking his hair. "He left?"

Mark nodded, the old tears creeping back into his eyes. "He did. He just left a note, and…"

"But Mark, that doesn't have to mean that he didn't want…"

"He fucking ran away, Angel!" Mark snapped with surprising force. "Just like always. I don't know why I'm surprised. But… God. After that… I mean, what if… if I got… I'm all he has. With Mimi gone, he needs me too much for me to need him back." Mark swallowed hard, looking sick. "We didn't use protection," he added quietly, almost as an afterthought, sounding ashamed. The tears were starting to fall now, pooling at the corners of his eyes and rolling off onto Angel's skirt. "It wasn't his fault any more than mine, but we didn't."

Angel had to let a worried hiss escape; it didn't go well with the comforting demeanor she usually could hold so perfectly, but she was shocked, and struck by just how painful the situation could potentially be. She could excuse Roger's leaving, really. He had to be thinking he'd signed his best friend's death warrant. His best friend, who, whether Mark would believe it or not, he loved dearly. Roger's instinctive escape mechanism was to run, whether it was from Mimi for loving him in ways he couldn't handle or into a world of dreams brought by heroin.

"I'm sorry, Mark, but I can't be here now," Mark said softly in a mimicking, waterlogged tone. "That's all he wrote. Nothing about where, if he was coming back… and you know what the worst thing is? All day, I've been terrified he's going to end up back at that fucking dealer. I'm probably gonna Goddamn die over something he didn't even really care about, and I'm worried about him."

"He's with Collins, honey. Since eight this morning," Angel said soothingly, still petting Mark's head. "Probably getting himself sorted out. I know it wasn't the most sensitive way to react, but he probably felt guilty. He might have thought you'd be angry. All I know, Mark, is that that boy loves you. He probably doesn't have the first idea what to do about it any more, but I know he does."

"I love him too," Mark admitted hoarsely. Angel had known as much, but hearing him say it gave her license to remind him. "But I'm starting to really fucking hate that I do. I hate that I'm worried about the drugs, the HIV… I was so fucking relieved when he finally left the loft… I love him, and I shouldn't. It would be so much easier…"

"To give up?" Angel finished for him, knowingly. "Mark, he's here because you didn't give up. It's not the kind of person you are. You can't let people go. Admirable, but living like that is hard sometimes, and you need to learn to take help."

"Like he fucking offers it?" Mark challenged, scowling. Then his resolve seemed to break and he went from angry to teary once more. "He didn't have it to give. He was getting better, he really was. Mimi should have been good for him. Somehow he managed to end up back at square one, instead. But he could have, today. All he had to do was be there when I woke up. Not even there there, just in the house. Even if all he'd done was say that it was a mistake and he couldn't do it any more, at least I'd have known."

That, Angel had to admit, was true. There was absolutely no excuse for giving someone who loved you HIV – not that they were sure, but the possibility was very distinct – and then disappearing. But that implied that Roger had been capable of rationalizing any of it at the time, and Roger, guilty and hung-over, would be anything but logical. Mark was right, Mark was hurt, Mark needed someone so much now… Angel had to be on his side, even if she did understand why Roger had done it. Mark needed someone, and it seemed like she'd gotten the job. She was his friend and often worried about his inability to vent besides, it wasn't like she minded; but by all rights it should have been Roger there with him. Unlike Mark, Angel could see that Roger would be back, probably begging for forgiveness. Collins would do what he could to get Roger emotionally stable, but he wouldn't let him keep any illusions, either, and aside from the mutual consent the sex had required, this was Roger's fault. Angel really believed that Mark would have been okay, if only he'd had someone to share his fears with. Roger loving him like she knew he did, it should have been him. Angel didn't mind doing it in and of itself, but in the time it had taken her to get to him, Mark's state had gotten at least a hundred times worse.

"Now, Mark, look: if you are sick, you can't start out with the attitude you have now," Angel told him gently, still toying with the soft blonde hair under her fingers. Mark yawned and looked at her with eyes that told her to continue. He was too drowsy to seem upset even when discussing the possibility of HIV infection. Then again, Angel reflected, when someone gets something off their chest after crying (and drinking) over it most of a day, they tend to find themselves completely spent. "You're not sleeping until you hear this. I mean it. Mark, sure: if you're sick, maybe it's because of a lapse in judgment. You can't punish yourself – or Roger, if he makes things right – over that forever. Because if you've got it, you've got it, and you're too good to waste your life like that. Maybe you're looking at dying a lot sooner than you planned on, and believe me, I know how that hurts." Mark's eyes were plaintive again, but this time Angel knew it was for her. They'd all seen the colour fade from her cheeks and the weight drop from her frame in the last few weeks. Mark was dealing with the possibility of being newly positive. Angel was dying. "I'm not saying don't be upset, if you need to talk or cry or even yell at people sometimes, that's understandable. But don't make it your focus. No matter when you have to go, live life to the fullest."

"Harder than it sounds," Mark observed sleepily. "Especially for…" He stopped, seeming to think better of whatever he'd been going to say, and instead asked softly, "Angel, how do you do it?"

"Do what, Marcus?" she asked with a little smirk, grinning when he pouted at her. Mark's real name was in fact simply Mark, but Angel and Mimi had taken to calling him Marcus just to watch his irritated reaction. It was hard to bug Mark, at least in such a way that he actually expressed it, so when you stumbled across something simple that did the job, it was all the more amusing.

"Take it all so well," Mark explained, a desperate sort of look in his eye, as though there were words inside Angel that would shift his worldview radically enough to allow him the same freedom she seemed to possess innately.

"The sooner I deal with things, the sooner I get to be happy," Angel replied simply. "I like being happy, it's its own reward, wouldn't you say? I could have been bitter and angry for the past five years, sure. But the only person I would have been cheating was me."

Mark looked up at her and let out a small, sleepy sigh that put her in mind of a young child. "Okay," he accepted easily. It was the last thing he said before his eyes fluttered closed for good. Angel didn't move – not for fear of waking him; Mark was truly sleeping the sleep of the dead, snoring so loudly he'd probably have been embarrassed if he'd known anyone was hearing it, but because she saw no need to do so. She'd brought him some peace and herself some contentment, and she felt no need to end either feeling at the moment.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when Collins appeared at the fire escape, leading a terrified-looking Roger. Mark groaned and writhed in his sleep at the sound of the window closing, and Angel looked at them sharply, pressing a finger to her lips. Roger gaped, confused, though he didn't manage to lose the nervousness in his mannerisms, but Collins just smiled, looking profoundly relieved. He'd probably been worried about Mark, too, but he'd have been too busy with Roger to be able to do anything about it. Cautiously, Angel slipped out from under Mark, laying his head on the arm rest, then headed towards Roger's room, beckoning silently for them to follow.

As soon as she'd closed the door, she hit Roger in the back of the head, hard enough to startle him but not really meaning to do any damage. "I understand why you felt like you had to do it, sweetie," she assured him, "but you turned that boy into one unholy mess."

Roger looked as if he felt profoundly guilty, but he also looked like he'd like to find the nearest door. "Yeah, but Angel, I… Look, I didn't think he'd even want to see me. He'd have every right to tell me to get the fuck out of his life."

"Well, he was the closest to it I've ever heard of," Angel replied seriously. "Of course, he was also drunk as a skunk. But he was really worried about you, Roger. He wasn't happy about it, but he was. He won't come to you this time, but he will let you fix things. You're gonna have to figure out exactly how you want fixing things to work, though. Mark loves you, and once he got over being mad, I know he'd be happiest if you boys went ahead with the relationship thing. Yes, he'll be okay if you don't, too. But he loves you, and you love him," Angel stressed the second half of the sentence, as though Roger might not yet have realized it himself. Whether he had or not, he shifted uncomfortably and blushed. "There's no reason you shouldn't be together."

"I'm not even sure I've given up on Mimi," Roger protested in a small voice. "I mean, it was only two weeks ago, so…"

Angel shook her head. "Roger, you have to stop hiding from the love you've got in front of you behind memories. With Mimi it was April, with Mark it's Mimi, and if anyone else came along you'd tell them no because of Mark. You look me in the eye and tell me honestly you don't love him just as much as you did – do – love those girls. If you can really do it, I'll let it go right now."

Roger opened his mouth, then closed it with a defeated sigh and shook his head, staring at his feet.

"See, that's why this is so hard for you, Roger," Collins told him knowingly. "Now, fuck: nobody here _wants_ Mark sick. 'Course I'm upset he might be, but I'm worried about his feelings and his health, and it's his feelings that need the immediate attention here. The fact is, you two made a decision together, and that's what we're looking at now. I know Mark, and unless he was angry enough for it to spill over onto other things, the one thing he won't blame you for today is that. That was hormones, vodka, and repression."

"He should," Roger sighed seriously. "He really should. But God, it'll be three months before we'll be able to have any idea, six before we can be sure, and even then, he should go again… I don't want him positive, I'd cut off my fucking arm if I thought it'd keep it from happening, but I do think it's the only way I'll be able to…"

Collins slapped him, harder than Angel had hit him but still mostly doing it for shock value. "Roger Davis, you do not want to finish that sentence in front of me. Now look, you know as well as I do that if one of you had thought to use a condom last night, we wouldn't have this mess. You wouldn't have woken up and taken off. What, you can trust them once in a while but not on a regular basis?"

"What have I learned, Collins, if I go and do that?" Roger challenged, for once unwilling to back down. "Put him at risk again? Sounds like a fucking great idea," he finished sarcastically.

Angel shook her head. "No, that wasn't the lesson you should get from this. The lesson you should get is that sometimes, Mark needs you, and you can't run away any more when he does. If you're really stuck and you really don't think you can handle it, talk to someone else, but you have to try, too."

"I know I fucked up," Roger said shortly. "But even if I got another shot at this morning, I'd probably do the same thing. I had to, Angel, I just couldn't…"

"It's big, isn't it?" Angel clucked sympathetically. "After Mimi and April waltzing into your life like a bolt from the blue, starting a relationship with your best friend… could be hard. Mark probably knows things about you you'd never tell a lover in a million years. Not everything worthwhile is easy."

Roger slowly wet his lips, a nervous gesture, and met Angel's eyes, an action that allowed her to read the whole of his inner turmoil. He wanted Mark desperately – not even in the romantic, passionate sense, although that was near the surface as well – he wanted his best friend to be there to put things in a way he could really understand and take to heart. Roger wasn't stupid, he just had an odd way of looking at things, and people who really got close to him learned to appreciate it. He wanted to throw himself at Mark's feet and beg for forgiveness. He still wanted to run away. He was a mass of conflicting impulses.

He was crying silently, ignoring it and hoping in vain that neither of his friends would notice. Angel murmured out a sympathetic noise and stroked his cheek, wiping away a tear. "Roger…" she sighed, shaking her head. "Leaving him this morning hurt a lot more than you want to admit, didn't it?"

"I didn't want to, Angel," Roger whispered miserably. She'd gotten him to admit it without getting angry, at least. "I just had to. And I might have to again."

Collins made a frustrated sound. "God-fucking-dammit, Roger, have you listened to a Godforsaken word we—" he stopped himself, drawing a deep breath. "No, that won't help. But let's get something straight: you boys can sort this out however you like, but you're stuck with Mark. You're staying at least 'til we're sure he's not positive from this, and you're staying until he can deal with it if he is. And sure, I can't keep you from running away again – go ahead, if it's what you really think is best. But if you take off again, Roger, you can say goodbye to having family here. Family doesn't do anything that shitty to each other. And nobody should do something that shitty to someone they love."

Roger looked at him sadly. He licked his lips again and then whispered, "Well then I'm just about fucked, aren't I? You're telling me that either I'll have to hurt him again and lose everyone or completely disregard his safety, on top of the fact I'll probably be gone two years from now!"

"Not at all," Collins said calmly. "About any of it. Just 'cause you're pessimistic doesn't mean the worst is going to happen. I didn't say you couldn't go back to being just friends…"

"Fine, then I will," Angel interrupted, tilting her head slightly at Collins' confused expression. She kissed his cheek and explained quietly, "Honey, it won't work. They've got too much between them, they'd either fight all the time or fall back into bed together. And it's not them sleeping with each other that worries me, it's them doing it because they've got to get years worth of tension out in twenty minutes. It's not healthy, and it's the only reason they ended up unprotected last time. I hate to say it, but it really is love him or leave him. Now," Angel continued, turning towards Roger, "I'm not saying I don't think you won't be making the biggest mistake of your life if you walk out that door, Roger. But if you can't do it right, it might be the best thing you can do for Mark."

It had the effect she'd hoped, and Roger bristled visibly. "Now, wait a minute, I don't think what's best for Mark is—" he started to protest angrily, stopping when he realized he'd been goaded into proving Angel's point. He sighed. "Shit. I really have to suck this one up, don't I?"

Angel and Collins both nodded silently. "It'll be worth it, sweetie," Angel promised.

"Besides, you've always got the option of only doing things that you know are safe," Collins pointed out. "Might not sound fun, but believe me, you do it right, it can be just as rewarding."

Roger blushed. "Collins—" he'd been going to say more, but the words caught in his throat when he saw Mark at the door. "Fuck."

Mark approached him silently. The weave was gone from his step, but he still looked frail and there were dark hollows under his eyes that made clear exactly what sort of day he'd had. Roger stood frozen, not knowing what to do. He never got a chance to react to the fist flying at his cheek. Collins and Angel might have been aiming to startle him, but the second Mark's fist connected with his face, he was aware that this blow was meant to hurt. It did, too, enough to make him hiss and bend double, cupping his jaw. Mark let him curse for a few seconds before kneeling down to meet his eyes and touching the cheek he hadn't hit gently.

"I feel better now," he announced softly. "We need to talk."

Angel pressed on Collins' foot with her own surreptitiously before announcing, "We're going to go find Maureen and Joanne. We'll bring dinner back from the Life later." The couple left unobtrusively, and Mark and Roger were left staring at one another silently.

Roger sucked on his tongue and swallowed the resultant blood, just to fill the time with any action he could think of, then looked away from Mark and whispered, "Sorry. I… I know it's not nearly good enough, but… it's all I've got."

"It's all you've ever got," Mark replied flatly. "When does it change, Roger?"

"When I get back to where I need to be," Roger answered simply. Mark made a sound of disgust and he added hastily, "And I'm getting there, I swear. I will be there for you, Mark," Roger said seriously, the look in his eyes keeping Mark from looking away. "I wasn't sure I could do it at first, but I have to. Not because of responsibility or any of that shit, just because… just because it's you. I'm stuck caring about you either way, hiding from it is only going to make both of us miserable."

Mark stared at him mutely for a long time, then approached him, whispering, "So does that mean I can…" he stopped and took a deep breath, reaching up to stroke Roger's cheek with the back of his hand.

"I think… ye… Mark," Roger managed finally, but the way he said it was answer enough, his resolve crumbling audibly.

Mark kissed him then, slow and exploratory, It was only when he pulled away with a distasteful expression on his face that Roger recalled his bleeding mouth and was horrified. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but was interrupted.

"It's okay," Mark assured him immediately, squeezing his hip. His voice was shaky, terrified, really, but it was clear that where it mattered, he meant it. "I know it's not, not really, but it's no one's fault and we'll just have to do the best we can."

Roger wanted to protest, but failed. Mark had clearly made up his mind, having talked to Angel, and, well, Angel and Mark were a hell of a lot more likely to be right than he was.

He let Mark push him back onto the bed, finding relief in surrender. It seemed almost foolish that after all the day's drama, they'd resolved their conflict so easily, but Roger needed Mark, a realization that mostly made the choice for him, and Mark was perhaps still just a little bit drunk, awake for that not-quite-sober period between drunkenness and a hangover. Besides, they were best friends, and they knew how to deal with conflict between each other.

Mark's insobriety became readily apparent when Roger felt the tip of his tongue pressed invitingly to his lower lip. Roger jerked away. "Mark," he said sternly, managing to sound dead serious even panting. "Don't. Just because we've slipped up a couple times doesn't mean…"

"It's easier this way, Roger," Mark insisted. "It is. It's probably already too late, anyway. And by… by the time you're gone, you'll be the only one who'll be left, and…" Roger winced, knowing it was true. Angel dying, Collins in active stage, Mimi growing frailer by the day. He really was the only one who still had his health.

"Jesus," Roger hissed, more from the pain analyzing his friends' health caused him than anything. "Mark, quit it. The only reason I'm not more pissed off than I am right now is because I know you don't mean that. It's the booze talking."

"No, it's not," Mark said firmly. Then, just as quickly, he admitted, "Maybe a little. But Roger… you can't pretend it's not already a possibility. I wouldn't really be worried if we were safe, but we already haven't been. Even if we never slip up again, it might already be too late."

"Yeah, but we don't know that," Roger protested, frustrated. "Mark, you're taking your life in your hands here, could you show some fucking concern?"

"Could you shut up and let me finish?" Mark shot back irritably. "I understand why you want to be careful until I get tested. It's what's best for me, I know. But if it's already too late, Roger… The way you're acting, I don't know if you'll be able to deal with it."

"Oh," Roger said flatly, feeling stupid. All the complaining he'd done, and it turned out Mark had only been concerned about him as always. "You're dealing with it. I'll manage."

"Bad theory. You're not me. You…" Mark hesitated, then settled on, "feel more than I do. Or things affect you more, anyway."

"Then how is this supposed to work?" Roger demanded, frustrated. "I can't expect you to deal with all my problems, Mark, especially not when they come from you having an even bigger one."

"I know," Mark agreed softly. "But… I know you, too, and I can't expect you to do things I know you don't have in you. This hurts for both of us, Roger."

"Lots of things hurt for both of us, Mark, and five minutes ago you told me the truth," Roger said in a pained voice. "You don't want to talk about what I do wrong, fine: we'll talk about how you need to change. You have to stop pretending you're always okay. You have to start talking to me before you break down like this. You have to tell me. Because yeah, there are times I should probably notice, but… Most of the time it doesn't even seem like you want me to. And don't say it's because I can't handle it, because it's not your job to worry about that."

"Yeah, but I…"

"No, Mark," Roger insisted. "How am I even supposed to know what I can really do when no one will even let me try?"

"Because you…"

"Don't," Roger interrupted again. "I know I probably needed it at some point, but it's time I stood on my own two feet."

Mark didn't answer, so Roger drew him closer and kissed the crown of his head before announcing, "You should get some sleep."

"I'm fine," Mark protested, but his voice was drowsy.

"I don't care," Roger replied. "You've gotta be beat, and believe me, you'd rather sleep through the headache you're gonna have."

"But Roger…"

Roger sighed. He could sense Mark's real concern, he was just afraid to address it. "It'll be okay," he promised implicitly. "I'll be okay. If I'm not here when you get up, I swear I won't be far."

"Okay," Mark conceded finally, burrowing deeper into the pillow and closer to Roger's chest. "And Rog?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank Angel for me, would you? She… helped."

"I will," Roger promised, squeezing him. He felt Mark shrink under his arms with a long exhalation, relaxing. When his breathing evened out, Roger smiled to himself and kissed his temple. Mark was right. He'd have to thank Angel, too; if only for doing what Roger planned to himself from here on out.


End file.
